


doing great

by NoBody_NoCrime2020



Category: Eminem (Musician), Machine Gun Kelly (Musician)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying During Sex, Gentle Sex, Insecurity, M/M, idk man this is my first post here lmao, insecure kells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoBody_NoCrime2020/pseuds/NoBody_NoCrime2020
Summary: just kells crying during sex
Relationships: Colson Baker | Machine Gun Kelly/Eminem
Kudos: 34





	doing great

**Author's Note:**

> idk know how to put in italics in ao3

Colson thighs burned as he rode Marshall, his shaggy, blond hair covering the half of his face. Em was sitting, back supported by the bed frame, watching Colson bounce on his cock, chasing his release, whispering how “good you look, baby, bouncing on my cock, god, you’re doing so well, fuck, if you could only see yourself, ah fuck fuck fuck, there’s a good boy, yeah fuck-“

the blond’s eyes stung, it was already so hard for him to fuck with how gentle Marshall was being, and now he has to work for Marshall’s pleasure, all the while being watched and praised with the steel blue eyes that he’s admired for so long.

he would’ve rather have Marshall fucking him for his own pleasure, not giving a shit about the blond singer’s feelings. it was easier, so damn easier to be fucked like he didn’t matter at all, than to be fucked like Marshall actually cared. he can’t. Colson can’t delude himself like that. no, he didn’t matter and still doesn’t matter. all that matters is that he gets Marshall to come before he does, so he can leave and Colson can pretend the brunet still hates him, that this is his apology to the rapper.

because there is no way Marshall Mathers cares about him, he cant let himself think that, next thing you know, he’s being delusional and think that the man loves him. The Marshall Mathers isn’t going to love someone like him, no, not even Colson is going to bullshit himself like that.

but Marshall is touching him, he’s not clawing or grasping. no, god, no, his idol is caressing him, hands wondering his disgustingly skinny body to make him feel good. and when the blond thinks he can still hold in the pressure in his eyes, the man leans in to fucking kiss his bony body, his scar covered chest, his tiny fucking shoulders, and fuck, he can’t anymore, hot tears scrapes down his cheeks, his head held even lower in hopes that Marshall won’t see them.

Colson can hear Marshall, but refuses to believe it’s him, no, the words are too sweet, it can’t be said to him but they’re the only ones in Marshall’s fucking bedroom. “hey sweetheart...you good, baby? hey Colson-“ and then he pushes away the one thing that’s keeping the shaking blond boy from unraveling.

Marshall sees the gorgeous shade of sapphire in Colson’s eyes, how they’re brimming, spilling over with unwanted, unneeded, tears. he sees pretty pink lips that scream for justified, righteous anger, lips that sung immature and crude words with meaningful, hurt, and insecure meanings, lips that are shaking from undeserved melancholy. and Marshall’s chest actually hurts with how his heart breaks.

and god, no, please, no, Colson can’t have the man looking like that, looking sad for him, because there’s nobody else he can pretend it’s directed to. fuck, the skinny boy needs him to look disgusted at him, for being so pathetically weak and disgustingly all skin and bones body. the sad, blond boy needs the man to look at him like he’s a nothing but a fucktoy, not looking sympathetic that he’s crying his nonsensical emotions out

“no-o, i-i’m sorry, i’m fine, let m-me just—“ he tries to apologise, he struggles to pretend the brunet still hates him, because that’s how it’s supposed to be, but he still fully believes that the man would be furious the whore he’s fucking is an emotional mess who can’t keep their useless thoughts to themselves.

but instead, goddamnit, Marshall lifts the crying blond into the missionary position, putting one of Colson’s long legs on his shoulder so he can hit that spot that makes the pretty boy scream ecstasy. the older’s left elbow is braced right beside the blond’s head, left hand pushing back the bangs away from the pretty eyes Marshall lets himself drown in, the other hand cupping his cheek, thumb stroking the warm, reddened milky skin.

“let me make you feel good, baby. i want to make you feel good, so good, f-fuck, good boy, pretty boy, so goddamn pretty.” Marshall kisses the boy, his boy, tenderly, slow and sweet, in contrast to wonderful jolts of pure pleasure from the man’s thrusts. 

all the while, Colson is crying, whining and whimpering, moaning and gasping, letting himself get truly lost in the pleasure, letting himself believe, for just this tick in time, that the words coming from Marshall are for him, letting his own heart delude himself, only in that moment, that Marshall loves him.

the pretty, crying blond is weakly clawing on Marshall’s shoulders, absolutely shaking, back arching beautifully. his sky blue eyes, still filled with tears, rolling, hiding behind his long lashes. reddened lips, shiny with spit, open and spilling a never ending song of pleasure.

Colson was the first to finish, with a scream and shaking thighs, and Marshall came the next second, heating Colson from the inside, making the blond cry out a moan, over sensitive already.

just as Colson was about to let his hopes come crashing down, Marshall was kissing his cheeks, dragging his tongue on his warm neck, scraping his teeth, lightly nibbling and sucking the junction where neck and shoulder meet, drawing out a cute little whine from the blond. and Colson swears he heard and felt the breathy chuckle that people rarely got to see.

breathless and coming down from his high, Colson looks down to see Marshall’s scruffy cheek resting on his stomach, deep ocean eyes looking back at him, a dorky, satisfied, smug grin on his forever gorgeous face. warm hands resting just above his hip, thumbs petting the hipbone.

“hm, you good, baby boy?” the smug little shit asks.

Colson thinks about it, and right now? basking in the after glow, his brain flooding with the happy hormones from the orgasm and crying, he can confidently say,

“yeah. yeah, i’m doing great, Marsh...”


End file.
